


start a house fire with us in the middle

by likewinning



Series: little beasts [47]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Knifeplay, M/M, brief mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don’t kiss trainwrecks. Don’t kiss knives. Don’t kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	start a house fire with us in the middle

**Author's Note:**

> this is 100% ohmcgee's fault. read [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4481309) first.

Roy doesn't see Tim for almost a year. He teaches Tim how to shoot a bow, how to use those fancy knives of his, teaches him which guns work best with his tiny hands. Tim gets stronger, grows an inch or two, and then one day he just stops coming by anymore. Roy doesn't even have his number; Tim always just _showed up_ when he wanted something, always seemed to know when Roy was by himself. Then they'd train, fuck around, get high - usually not in that order. 

The next time Roy sees Tim, it's because Jason brings him around. Tim looks at him like he's never seen him before, eyes not so much bored as _blank_. The only hint of recognition is the way Tim's fingers trace the arrows Roy left on the coffee table, the way he lifts his head up when Jason's not looking, displaying the scar Roy left him on his neck.

Tim's quiet while Jason talks, tells Roy about a job they just finished up in South America, how Dick's laid up with a broken arm and a sprained ankle because dumbass got too coked up and decided to swing off a fire escape and forgot he's not in the damn circus anymore.

"Yep," Roy says. "That sounds like Dickie."

Jason sits down on the couch next to Roy and they smoke a bowl while Tim wanders around the apartment, not talking to either of them.

"He's fucking creepy, right?" Jason asks.

"Mm. Pretty, though." If Tim's not going to tell Jason that they already know each other, Roy can play that game, too.

"Yeah," Jason says. "I don't know where Bruce picked him up. I came back from Venice and there he was."

"Huh," Roy says. He doesn't mention that Tim was probably following all of them around for weeks. He bets anything Bruce caught him at it, just like Roy did.

"You can stop talking about me like I'm not here now," Tim says, standing over them. He takes a seat on Jason's lap, stretches his skinny legs onto the coffee table and then takes the pipe from Roy. Jason shoots Roy a look over Tim's shoulder like _see what I mean_ but Roy can tell Jason's just talking shit, can tell by the way he keeps one hand on Tim's waist, plays with Tim's hair with the other.

*

Tim shows up again a few days later, looking like a total fucking mess. His eyes are so dark they're almost black, his hair's going in three directions, there's blood on the bottom of his shirt and on his lip.

"We gonna be friends again now?" Roy teases, and Tim says, "Just shut up," knocks Roy down to the floor and climbs on top of him, straddling his chest.

"Looks like you learned some new moves," Roy says, and Tim flicks his knife open, drags it across Roy's cheek. "'Course, I always prefer the classics myself."

Roy circles Tim's tiny hips with his hands, brushing under Tim's t-shirt. He feels new scars, wants to lick every one of them. Tim cuts across Roy's cheek, and Roy knows Tim wants him to stay still, but when Tim leans down to lick the blood away Roy grabs him, drags him down and sucks on Tim's tongue until Tim's grinding his dick against Roy's abs.

"Jesus," Roy says. "You know, for a while there I thought you were dead."

"No," Tim says. He unbuttons his jeans and takes his dick out, gives it a couple of hard strokes. Roy's mouth waters for it. "I just didn't think there was anything else you could teach me."

Roy shoves Tim back until their positions are flipped, licks across Tim's bottom lip and then bites down until Tim bleeds. "And now?" Roy asks.

Tim shrugs. Roy knows better than to think Tim's going to give him much. "I thought maybe you'd let me fuck your face."

Roy shivers, grinds his dick against Tim's thigh. "And why should I let you do that?"

"Well," Tim says. He pushes some of Roy's hair away from his face with his knife, then settles back against the hardwood floor. Roy's floor is filthy, a mess of beer cans and coke residue, but Tim doesn't seem to mind. "Maybe I'll tell you where I've been."

"Yeah?" Roy asks. He slides down Tim's body, kisses Tim's cock, sucks wetly at the head. "And how about Jay? What's with not telling him you know me?"

"That's none of anyone's fucking business, is it?" Tim asks. His voice is cold like just about always, and he scrapes his nails across the back of Roy's neck.

"Nah," Roy says. "I guess not." He swallows Tim down, sucks him all the way to the root and Tim lets out a sharp breath. Roy remembers what Tim likes, how he whines a little if you give him just the slightest bit of teeth, how his eyes roll back in his head when you suck his balls, how Tim can stay perfectly still while you fuck your face on him but he'll get wild at the end when he's about to come.

Roy moans when Tim jerks up into him, one hand tight in Roy's hair and the other still gripping his knife, and when he rubs two fingers over Tim's hole Tim comes _hard_ , pushes Roy back and splatters his neck and chin. Then Tim rolls them over, licks the mess from Roy's face and pushes Roy's shirt up, drags his knife over Roy's ribs with one hand while he pops the button open on his jeans with the other.

"Russia," Tim says, and Roy doesn't realize until a couple seconds after Tim gets his hand around his dick that it's an answer.

"What - what the hell's in Russia?" Roy asks.

"A lot of snow," Tim says. He takes his hand off Roy's dick and sets down the knife for a second so he can strip off his shirt, and shit, _someone's_ been having fun with him. He's covered in cuts and bruises and bitemarks, and Roy only recognizes a couple of them.

"I was training," Tim says. He hands the knife to Roy and Roy sits up, moves so Tim's straddling his legs while he palms Roy's dick. Roy finds a space no one's touched yet right under Tim's pec, and when he licks the blood away Tim squeezes him _hard_.

"Training for what?" Roy asks. He bites one nipple, then the other, and Tim moans and says, "Don't give me that. You know." Roy grips his ass, and Tim says, "Fuck, fuck _me_." He digs a container of lube out of his back pocket before Roy can even ask, and then Roy swipes across his stomach, leans forward to lick up the blood and then looks up at Tim and says, "On your side."

Tim doesn't need much prep, but Roy can't help dragging it out, can't help how pretty Tim sounds when he whines and moans and shoves himself back against Roy's fingers. Roy licks Tim's shoulder, the shell of his ear, and then he wraps one arm around Tim's chest and shoves inside of him.

Tim stops breathing for a whole minute and Roy doesn't move until Tim asks, "What the fuck are you waiting for? _Fuck me_."

Roy laughs, and then he moves, holding Tim to him as he fucks into him. Tim reaches back to claw at his side and Roy sucks bruises into Tim's throat, wonders if Jason will recognize them.

"Harder," Tim says, and Roy pushes him forward, gets Tim on his hands and knees and then pounds into him. Tim's back is slick with sweat and covered in bites and bruises just like the rest of him. Roy recognizes a long cut down Tim's shoulder blade from one of the first times Tim asked him to hurt him. He bites down hard on that spot when he comes, licks away the blood until Tim says, "Roy, Roy, _fuck_." Roy pulls out of him, licks the come from Tim's ass and thighs while Tim fucks his dick into his hand until he comes again. Tim collapses onto his back, his face flushed pink and sweat dripping down his nose.

Roy lies back down next to him and licks his hand clean. His skin's starting to itch like when he needs a fix. He expects Tim to go like he always does once he gets what he wants, but Tim stares up at the ceiling, for a while. Just when Roy reaches into his jeans for the little packet of coke he keeps there, Tim says, "They locked me away for a while. When I got out, I emptied out my inheritance. Spent it all," he says.

"Shit," Roy says. "That why you came back to Gotham?"

"Yeah," Tim says. He rolls over, pulls his jeans back on, then his shirt. His eyes are blank again when he says, "Something like that."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I won't ask where you've been](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509870) by [ohmcgee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee)




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